Ireland 2019

What can be said about Ireland that hasn't been said a million times? It's beauty, charm, history, language, music, poetry. all come together into a wonderful experience that fills the soul.

Twenty one travelers, one bus with the most wonderful driver/guide, an excellent itinerary, beautiful weather and amazing scenery all combined to make a memorable McDonough family trip to the old sod.

 We've been throwing around the idea of a family trip to Ireland for a least a few years and lo, it came to pass (I love the word lo!)  We owe a lot to Chuck for whining about it for years, Patty Ann (that's what we call her) for being a perfect tour guide and to Dennis for being a tremendous sleuth chasing down the family history. The initial consanguineous group (don't be lazy - look it up) consisted of Ma and Pa's direct descendants, Chuck, Sheila, Bill, Nancy Jen, Chris, Jackie, Patty, Patty and Dennis add a side mix who came a few days later, still consanguineous, Maryanne, Kathy, Michael, Samantha, Stephen, Sean.

Cousins of cousins, Maureen and Kathy. Friends Kelsey, Joyce, a group of fabulous Floidians - the Golden Girls - Katie, Marian, Adrienne and Louise along with Ferrel, Nancy, Juan and Maggie all melded together to become a merry mixture of happy travelers.

Our Dublin guide gave her informative spiel to a busload of sleepy tourists most of whom had no memory of what she said. I think the gist was that Dublin is a wonderful town! The idea of getting off a plane and touring for a few hours before checking into a hotel makes perfect sense, it saves you a days hotel charge. It's important to get ahead of jet lag by not taking naps on that first day. So off we went on that busy Saturday morning to a whirlwind tour of the Book of Kells and the Guinness factory in zombie-like fashion. Finally, the amazing Dermot squeezed our mega bus into the tiny courtyard of the Clarage hotel and we happily settled into our comfy rooms. Heaven!

Turns out the Dublin guide was right! Dublin is a wonderful town. O'Connell streets and squares and pubs all over the place. Yes I know it was a McDonough tour, but I have a natural draw toward O'Connell locations, especially the pubs. On our first full day in Dublin's fair city we took a walk downtown and ran into the the statue of that famous fishmonger Molly Malone. From the back she looks like an old fashioned peasant, from the front she looks like Dolly Parton with a good bit of her assets on display. Funnily that part of the bronze statue was shining brightly. Looks like a number of good luck rubs were had.

Being Sunday we felt a Church visit was in order and we tried, we really did. Maureen and I popped into a Polish church to light a candle and then we all tried to get into the Cathedral but alas it was closed to the public because they were actually using it to praise God. Inconvenient for us, but God was probably pleased. Anyway, what to do? The Brazen Head, Dublin oldest alehouse you say? After all it was past noon already. So through the magic of Google Maps and a few wrong turns were in front of the Brazen Head, established in 1198, by golly. It was one of those wonderful old buildings with many rooms which the more savvy Dublin crowd had already filled, for the most part. We managed to worm our way into a spot in one of the lesser rooms and ordered 5 beautiful Guinness. We were becoming Guinness experts by this time, after all we did tour the factory the day before.There is something beautiful about a freshly poured Guinness and there is no more beautiful place to enjoy it then the old sod. 
Through more magic of that text thingy we added a few more travelers to our table, namely Bill and Dennis. Add Patty, Jen, Maureen, Kathy, me, Guinness and Dublin's fair city and you get a fairly silly afternoon. I'm not sure how we started skåling disasters, I think it was when Patty said here's to the 9/11 museum and Billy went off on a Billy tangent-here's to diphtheria, here's to malaria etc, etc. If you know Billy, you know what I'm talking about. And if you know Jen, you know how much we were laughing.

One of the rooms of the Brazen Head was a library. Maureen Chase had been there the year before and put a prayer card of Noreen, my niece and her cousin who passed away far too young. Liking that idea we added prayer cards of others from our families who have passed, Kevin, Pat and Jay. It's a good place, the Brazen Head.

Chuck, the patriarch  (that means oldest -sounds better though) of our consanguineous group was prowling the streets by himself and lo and behold found himself at O'Connell's Bar down by O'Connell's statue in O'Connell square. What a coincidink! So the Brazen Head crowd joined the O'Connell Bar individual and carried on with our Dublin love.

In addition to all the O'Connell stuff we went to a typical Irish entertainment evening which included traditional singing and dancing. The landlord had a heavy hand with the traditional whiskey so everyone enjoyed the entertainment immensely.

After such a busy weekend in Dublin, no one really minded a day of driving to get us to the wonderful west coast.  Dermot, the Amazing, squeezed our giant bus out of the tiny hotel courtyard and we were our way, gazing at the picturesque countryside, napping, listening to  lovely Irish music, stopping every now and then for a Kodak moment,

 One of those stops was at the Rock of Cashel, a huge castle ruin that looms up from the pastoral landscape of Tipperary and takes you by surprise. Dermot, the historian, gave us a run down of Brian Boru and the Irish Chieftain that was an important part of the history of Ireland. I would love to say I caught all the nuances, but I didn't. Short version Brain Boru was the first declared king of Ireland for a short time until he was killed by those lousy Vikings in a battle. The O'Brien family can claim him as an ancestor. We all need to brush up on our Irish history!

Part of the stchick in Kilarny

Phase two of our trip was a three night stay in Killarny. That town is probably the epitome of a perfect Irish adventure. Yes it, touristy, because it should be. It has everything a tourist could ask for - amazingly picturesque scenery, friendly people, good food and wonderful music.

Additional it is a hub from which one can take day trips to those two Irish gems, The Ring of Kerry and the Dingle peninsular. Add the fine weather, the multitude of baby lambs in the fields, the big beautiful Atlantic ocean, the wacky family group and what more could one ask for? Even a big mouth like me can't describe the beauty properly. Just go there!

The beautiful lasses 
in County Kerry

Of course Patty Lee knew people who were in Killarny so we met up with them an a pub. At elevenish on a Monday night, the band finally started up and WOW! It wasn't traditional Irish music, but it was fantastic. Think "Queen" on a late Monday evening in a little bar in Killarny. As great as it was, the next night with a jam fest of traditional music was better. Another small bar in Killarny.

One of our companions Maureen had a pleasant surprise, or maybe shock would be a better word. When we met for drinks that night at out hotel pub, the handsome stranger at the other end of the bar was her very ownhusband who just happened to be passing through from Franklin, TN. And it just happened to be his big birthday. SO for a few days we added another traveler, Bill Chase to the group.

We had to eventually leave that touristy wonderful town. and head north to Galway. No self respecting tourist could head north along the coast and not go to the Cliffs of Moher. What "moher" can I say. (Connie's daughter, sorry!.)

The cliffs remain awe-inspiring and we were all properly awed. 

So off we head to the ancient homeland of Galway. Our hotel was right across from the ocean at Salthill. That's the very same ocean that washes up to our home town of Boston. Hell you could get to Ma and Pa's hometowns from Tenean Beach if you had a mend too. Much easier to grab a flight from Logan though.

Added fun to the already fun tour was the fact that a mini group of yet more McDonoughs arrived.. Within walking distance of us and a great bar called O'Connors. It was such fun to see the youngins hanging out in the Old Sod (with the old sods)

Not actually billed as a pub crawl..

The Fahey Women in Galway

Anyway back to Salthill, the very place that Ma went dancing! More than a hundred years ago now. Dennis has been working furiously to get the family tree in some semblance of order and arranged with Dermot, the Irish jack of all trades to take a side trip to the hometowns of the Ma and Pa. Carraroe for Pa and Tir anNach or something like that for Ma. Chuck, Dennis and Dermot went on an excursion to that area of Connemara and reported that it looked like the dark side of the moon and no wonder everybody left. Which had some truth to it but of course we had to see for ourselves. So the big ass bus went down some little ass roads the next day and we got a chance to really see the places that Ma and Pa spent their childhood days.

I Carraroe we had no idea of Pa's actually address so we went to the town beach area and pictured him there, gathering what was useful for the stew pot. There was a monument stone there commemorating the babies who died before Baptism. Dermot said that was not an unusual sight. Many communities erected these stones for the infants that couldn't be buried in consecrated cemeteries. Some of them were placed near Viking or pagan grave sites, in the hopes that God would be nearby.

A picture of the old church,
 inside the new church in 
Carriroe

Jackie and I also wormed our way into to parish church which appeared locked, but we found a door in the back. It was obviously a new fangled Catholic church with the alter in the middle, but there was a photo of the ruin of the old church in a respectful place.

The great grandfather of these 
two gentlemen
 surely walked this beach.
 Steve and Mike in Carraroe

So off to Ma's small village where Dermot swore it was the first time a luxury tour bus graced the back roads of  this part of Ireland. After some searching in the drizzle we found the ancient ruins and took a few pictures of the place where Ma was a young wan. This is the time to tell the story, in case anyone does not know it, of Ma's subterfuge to get to America. 

The childhood home of Ma McDonough.
Where she no doubt hatched the false
 story that got her to America.

Being  one of the younger of the siblings McDonough,  Ma went to school and learned to read and write in English. When a letter came from a relative in Pittsburg offering to lend the money needed to take a ship to America to Martin,(the boy) if he could be spared. He could pay them back when he made enough money working in America. Catherine (Ma) translated the letter to say Martin could not be spared, but Catherine could come. Parents agreed, Ma wrote the letter and the rest as they say is history. None of the other siblings ever left the old country and we sadly do not really know what happened to them. We know for sure that the oldest sibling (probably named Mary) died young. That would have left 3 boys. It's hard to believe none of them married and had children. Others who have traveled to Ireland may know more than me. I may not be 100% on the name of the brother being Martin, it might have been Tom. Which just goes to illustrate the saying that history is written by the iffy people-or some such verbiage. 

OK, this blog has long since become long and boring - so to wrap it up - went to Belfast via Sligo (visited Yeat's grave, Dermot recited some of his poetry of course) In Belfast we stayed in the hotel which had the distinction of being the most bombed hotel in Europe. Dermot wisely didn't mention that fact until we checked out. We went to the Titanic museum and road through the "Troubles" neighborhood which was very interesting to see the opposing billboards (Revolution vs. God Save the Queen) 


I enjoyed Belfast, even though we had to find  English money for tips and such. Problems of the first world citizen you say?

The "wild Atlantic Coast" of Ireland is a respectable contender for any "Most Beautiful Vistas in the World" competitions one might like to come up with. OK, Connemara's beauty is a bit peculiar. But many people love boulders and rock filled fields. The big picture Ireland is an experience that is worth doing again and again. I for one intend to be back!

At least they're working

Minnesota

           

Seriously, I need to write a book. We spent an amount of time the other night talking with a woman who saw Bigfoot. If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes she might not have believed it! This woman by the way is somewhere in her 70s, traveling by herself, sleeping in the back of her station wagon and staying at remote campgrounds. What's not to love? Who knew Minnesota was Big Foot country?

The Dam

People ask, "Why are you in Minnesota?" and I think the above paragraph explains all.

Looking busy

Technically we are here at the Sandy Lake Recreation Area as volunteers with the Army Corps of Engineers. Our duties consist of unlocking 2 doors at 8 AM and locking them at 8PM (central time) Also, pick up a report of which campsites are expecting campers and later in the day writing our own report as to who has actually shown up and how many are in the party. Oh yes and what type of camping vehicle they have (example 1 woman in station wagon) I did not say crazy, - you thought it

You may think this is an easy job and of course you're right, after a couple of weeks here we finally have the hang of it. Svend of course goes around finding other things to do like picking up trash or raking the play areas. I look for typos on their signs (found two).   

Now we spend more time actually acting like "hosts" chitchatting with people etc. Svend is quite good at this. If some taciturn person doesn't want to engage, I'm ready to move on. Svend will ask them a ton of (in my opinion) boring questions and before long they're talking about their 

grandchildren, or their Swedish grandmas and off we go. Yesterday we spent a lovely half hour speaking with a man who seemed very quiet only to find out he was a retired director of the fish and wildlife commission and he literally knew everything about not only the local fish and fisheries but that of the whole midwest. I'm not even being sarcastic to say he was quite interesting and very nice.

Minnesotans are crazy for fishing. The opening day for fishing is like a state holiday. Every newscast had heartwarming stories of fishermen, fisherwoman, fiserchildren, bail shops owners, fishing guides and constant mention of the king of all fishes, the beloved Walleye. Which I can only attest to the fact that it tastes good pan fried. After several weeks here, I felt compelled to actually fish. So after a trip to the booming metropolis of MacGregor, MN, I purchased a rod and reel, assorted other fishy things like hooks, sinkers, bobbins, a license, and some squirmy minnows and it was a go. The neighbor gave us advice as to where the good fishing was, but alas, although we can fish, we haven't mastered the art of catching. At least we have what we need for the future. (except the minnows, they have been sacrificed.)

A new experience was to see the

Fish all year

Minnesota version of the perfect trailer - the fish house. Is this something people know about? These abodes have holes in the floor where one can open to fish on the ice! Picture it, "Come on children, close up the holes in the floor, dinner's ready." They can also be used during non ice times as a regular camper. Interesting, different, smart, weird, fun?                           

The history of this area has to do with The mighty Mississippi.

Somewhere in the mid 1800's the Army Corps of Engineers were tasked with making it more navigable by damning up 5 lakes near the headwaters so that steamboats could traverse more consistently and for flood control. Hence there's a cool dam right in the middle of the camp grounds. They don't let Svend control it, but you know he could.

Big Sandy Lake was also migration point for the Ojibwe (Chipawah) tribes and there is a monument commemorating The Tragedy at Big Sandy Lake where many tribe members had traveled to get their annual fall payments which were delayed and minimized. Around 300 members of the tribe died of starvation and illnesses as a result. There are so many stories throughout the US, it's a fascinating pastime to take the time to read the signs and historic markers in these out of the way spots, research further and try to piece together the mosaic of history.

On a slow Monday, we went off to go explore the delightful city of Duluth, a smallish port city of Lake Superior. Their touristy area is called Canal Park and it is a great collection of "things to do" The locally famous Grandma's restaurant is where we lunched al fresco (al heavy sweatshirts) 

 verlooking the old elevator bridge from the early 1900s that is still in use. After that we walked out to the lighthouse at the mouth of the port, over the scary bridge and to the free Army Corps of Engineer Lake Superior Museum, which was quite interesting. Most of us of a certain age know of the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald thanks to Gordon Lightfoot. For you younguns, it was a freighter carrying iron ore to Detroit that sank in a terrible storm on Lake Superior. All 29 crew members were lost. The museum also had stuff that Svend would like, things like engines and pumps. Moving on to a fun fact about the Army Corps of Engineers (Have you noticed I'm becoming obsessed with ACOE?) Their first project was at Breeds Hill in dear old Charlestown MA, where they built up fortifications that helped hold back the Bloody British. Ok, so the Bloody British won the battle, but we won the war.

So heading into our last big weekend at Big Sandy we agree that it was well worth the 24 hour drive and hundreds of dollars in gas to get here. The people we have met have consistently been friendly and easy going. The weather has not been overly friendly. The night we arrived we were caught in a severe snowstorm for at least an hour. Let me just say it was not fun dragging the Taj m'Haul through the whiteout on unknown roads. There was another afternoon of wet snow just to make it cozy.. As someone famous said, "The worst winter I've spent was the month of May in Minnesota."

Just in case

I'm thankful for for: the various warm clothing items we packed, the fact that there are no mosquitoes-yet, the peaceful Sandy Lake, the eagles,  swans, orioles, robins and various other critters (NOT the Canadian geese. I still hold a grudge against them from the Jersey days.)

Oh and Big Foot, if we get lucky enough to see him before we leave.

P.S. Look at the water mark on the boat ramp this morning. It's Big Foot, right?

Spooky

On the road again 2019

One thing we discovered during year two of our well-deserved retirement gig is the wonder of southern Florida in winter. Why would anyone in their right mind not be there in January and February? Yes it does have a bit of the "Nobody goes there anymore because its too crowded" syndrome. But it's totally worth it.
There are endless possibilities for the mature consumer in Florida. Buy a house, condo, trailer, RV, motor home, tent, travel trailer. Rent all the afore mentioned, know someone who has any of the afore mentioned and abuse their hospitality, get a hotel, Airbnb,  timeshare - you get the picture. The place is crawling with us northern sun followers.

Camp Runamuck

With this as our home base, we spent the weeks investigating Florida options, looking for a bigger and better RV, visiting friends and family. Fortunately my brother lives in Port Charlotte and he and Nancy were very hospitable to us on many occasions. On our last night be enjoyed our second annual German restaurant dinner along with Ellen. Chuck and Nancy realized too late the basic rule about German restaurants. Get the damn German food! Next year.

The first appointment I had in Florida was a call to Jury Duty. Nineteen years in New Jersey without a summons, but Florida nabbed me after about two weeks as a resident. Of course I was anxious to serve and be a catalyst to "throw some bum in jail" But about an hour into the process my hope of being chosen vanished. Talk about boring nonsense. Fortunately after seven hours of 
repetitive BS, nine poor Floridians were chosen and I happily was not among them. (PS- the guy was guilty. I could tell.)

Another fun thing to do when one is retired is to look at various "Florida options" for living. We went to a few 55 plus places where you buy a house but not the land. This sounds like a foolish idea, but I'm not sure if it is. We particularly liked one that had five swimming pools, a golf course, restaurant, pub and a little village square under the palm trees that was reminiscent of a quaint Mexican village from an old movie. We seriously toyed with this one until we got our senses back. At this point we want to continue traveling so we went out and bought a bigger camper. The added room has made us blissful! We went from one small slide out and one inner door to three slides and three doors! It's heaven, we call it the Taj M'Haul (get it, we haul it behind the truck?)

An astute follower of our blog will note that we keep running into 

the Deleviches, Elsie and Walt. Sometimes it's in Jersey, sometimes Pennsylvania, then there's the Chesapeake Bay, Chicago, Wisconsin, Sweden now we find them in Florida. First I ditched Svend and went to visit them and the wonderful Bethann and equally wonderful Phil Dunn in Del Ray Beach. I have to say it, I love the east coast beaches in Florida. It's the Atlantic Ocean, I'm very fond or it. It's not that I dislike the Gulf of Mexico or another large body of water, I just prefer the lovely Atlantic. However I realize we need to explore more of the west coast beaches and we will. Perhaps I'll change my mind.

Elsie and Walt came over to Fort Myers and we spent a rainy afternoon at the Edison Ford museum and homes. I know all you Nicolai Tesla aficionados love to put down Thomas Edison, but come on, he was amazing! Let's see - my accomplishments vs. 
Edison's accomplishments. Hmmm, well did he have a blog? I suppose he was too busy inventing a gazzion things. Go to his museums America, it's time well spent.

So we had to leave Florida to get back to Boston so I could go to Ireland with my family (scary blog to come someday) On the way out we camped at the Ocala National Forest at a place called Salt Springs. Should have been called heaven with it's amazing cool spring natural pool, tons of birds, large flat full hook up sites. We will be back!

Internetitis

No matter how often we older folks rail against the Internet and the fact that the entire world is on a phone, you have to love the internet! What time is it, what's the forecast for the next few days in Rome, take my picture, how far to Sienna, find the car, what to do in Venice when it rains, let's call the kids, listen to music, check Facebook, check out what the Great Schism was all about while driving. I COULD go on (you might say I already have) Here are some of my favorite "phone memories"

• Nuns taking selfies in St. Peter's Square

• A Shepherd, literally with a staff in one hand, a flock of sheep behind him and a cell phone in the other hand (checking Google maps for "pastures near me"?)

• Beggars with cell phones (call me old fashioned for even mentioning that one, of course they should have cell phones)

Of course when you depend on your cell phones (as we do) you get overly dependent on it and get the CT's (cell phone tremors) when for some reason you become disconnected. But you know there are still signs on roads or you could look at the art work involved in a statue instead of using it as a prop for you Facebook post. In Florence you would have thought the view of the city and sunset was manufactures for people to take pictures, nit to actually appreciate (oops- need to erase our pictures of Florence and the sunset from my posts)

As campers we are very appreciative of the Internet. In fact, I think we need to find a place to get haircuts. That's my last word on the subject.

Svend's thoughts

Hi,
8/20/2018
Starting the preparation for my fathers 90 year birthday. Reflecting on his time.
He is part of the generation that went from walking to flying. From getting the news over a cup of coffey to instant news on the computer.
3 generations and his brothe on the picture.

Some Notes on the Famous Brothers Hansen 

Everyone who lived through WW2 has a story to tell. Of course those who did the fighting on both sides have the most dramatic stories, but anyone who lived during that time has their own special experience that will always be with them. We’re fortunate to be hanging out with two people who lived through the war and are full of interesting stories. 

Villy and Egon, Svend’s father and uncle are brothers who lived within easy walking distance of the German border. Villy was 12 to 17 during those years and Egon 4 to 9. Both have vivid memories and life on the edge of such drama. 

How did they know their country was invaded? Their mother woke them early one morning to tell them their were German soldiers in the garden. 

The border between southern Denmark and northern Germany has always been flexible to say the least. Both sides of Svend’s family have a Danish/German mixture. 

In the Hansen family, from that day of the German occupation, no one in Denmark saw their German relations for over 5 years except for once when their mother got a special pass to attend her brothers funeral.

There were 2 sets of searchlights in the ares which the boys remember peaking through it the blackout curtains to watch for planes. There was a couple of times that   enemy planes were shot down. We recently visited a memorial in the woods near where Egon now lives, of a British plane that was shot down. Our friend Thomas also told of a memorial for a Canadian fighter pilot that he and his father organized a few years ago. The Canadian Air Force sent a jet to fly over the ceremony. In this small agricultural community there are still strong memories of that terrible time.

The Danes are proud of their resistance movement. Of course it was a David and Goliath situation. Little Denmark could not overtly fight against the Third Reich.  But

there were a few pockets of brave resisters. 

Near the border crossing there is a stone dedicated to Folke Bendotte. He was a Danish Diplomat who organized the evacuation of POWs and other refugees including many Jews from Germany. It was a famous convoy of white buses that drove the length of Denmark to security in Sweden.

Off We Go - Autumn 2018

September , 2018.

Goodbyes and Hellos

We left Boston for our camping spot in Jefferson New Jersey on Saturday morning. Naturally it was hard to leave those that we love, you know the usual suspects Amelia Erik, Sheila, Jennifer, Christine. and all of the other rascally relations.

We really love the quiet, secluded campsite at Marlon Dickinson reserve in Jefferson New Jersey. It’s quiet peaceful in the woods close to everyone we like to see. We enjoyed a lovely Italian dinner with Maureen on Berkshire Valley Road. Actually there were several families from Reverend Brown Schooll that Maureen and I knew. It was a trip down memory lane.

The next day on Sunday we went to Morristown to attend Megan Hoffnagle’s wedding. We planned our trip based on this happy event The bride was gorgeous (and I mean the real gorgeous), the groom handsome and we are lucky to be friends with the Hoffnagle family. They sure know how to throw a wedding bash.. We have been  at two of the three great marriage celebrations of the last few years. Magan and Alex's wedding was a joyous occasion in a beautiful setting at the Park Savoy in Florham Park, New Jersey. It was reminiscent of the amazing Amy-Nick wedding of 2016, featuring the lovely Ms. Amelia Hansen as one of the bridesmaids. (hey, it's my post)

Amazingly the Hoffnagles have not been forced to get 2nd jobs at the Quicky Mart and all three of their wonderful children are now happily married.

We managed to get in an all-call to our various Jersey Peeps and had a most enjoyable dinner at Sheridans, our hangout on the lake in Andover. As usual a wonderful time. The theme this evening was the impending tornado/hurricane/doomsday weather that was approaching. Many phones were turned on to the up to the minute path of this storm.

We decided to trust our luck and rejected the many offers for a bed in a real house and retired to our tin box in the woods.

Donner and Blitzen and falling acorns.

A few years ago When Svend’s uncle Otto was visiting us, he came out with the expletive, “Donner Väder!”

Hey, I said to myself, that means “Thunder weather” What a great expression. It beats the F bomb by a mile. It evokes unruly and maybe scary feelings, yet has a natural earthy quality. So I try to remember to use it when things are not going right., of course never actually doing so. Donner väder!!! But I do like to think of thunder and lightning as Donner and Blitzen.

We had major, donner and blitzen that night with a tornado warning thrown in. Additionally the oak trees were positively pelleting our camper with acorns that sounded like bullets. This is why we camp! We shut the blinds and watched Castaway, the worst Tom Hanks movie ever and ignored the peril we were in. Spoiler alert - we survived.

Interesting spider at the Mahlon Dickenson Park

ONWARD

We left NJ the following day and drove and drove until we thought maybe we were in Idaho, only to find ourselves still in Pennsylvania. Boy, and I thought Connecticut was a long state! (yes I know Texas is almost a thousand miles across - poetic licence here)

We decided to camp in a PA Park, the Black Moshannon State Park, a beautiful area near State College, PA. Of course as soon as we leave the highway for the long, windy, uphill road- the gas light goes on. Gas lights are notorious liars, but there was no hint of a gas station for the 20 plus miles uphill in a rainstorm.. ok, now I’m lying, the weather was beautiful. We get to our picturesque campsite and I foolishly said to Svend, let me go get gas while you set up. So we’re basically in the middle of nowhere, but we have a trusty GPS that lists gas stations..7.3 miles, 7.4, 7.9 etc. Why would I not choose the closest? It turns out because that was the most remote, the one over a mountain, the one with twisty one lane bridges and lots of woods and it’s getting dark. That’s why. Of course I’m blaming Svend for being in this scary situation. What kind of husband listens to his wife when she offers to get gas?

No doubt I tend to exaggerate at times, but it was a pressure filled drive that ultimately lead to me making it back alive with a full tank of gas. From then on I ask Svend "How’s the gas situation?" at least twice a day.

Our next spot was on the shores of Lake Erie in Port Clinton Ohio. We chose a hotel to take advantage of a fairly nice pool and free breakfast. For dinner we found a place right on the Lake and had various deep. fried items including perch. Good, but fried, deep fried.

Having never been in Michigan (how did we miss that?) we had to have lunch the next day over the border in an unremembered town in what can only be described as a dive. Of course the food was great and cheap. Never discount dives. Some choice menu items included frog legs, fried liver, fried gizzards (what exactly is a gizzard, I'm afraid to look it up), various lake fish smelts, catfish - fried of course. We chickened out and got chicken. Deliciously fried.